


Come Back Down to My Knees

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Daddy Kink, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Sexual Content, Frat Boy Shiro (Voltron), Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Allura/Pidge | Katie Holt, Minor Hunk/Lance (Voltron), Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Top Shiro (Voltron), Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 11:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18637297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: A misunderstanding leaves Keith certain he's accidentally pledging the kink fraternity. Under normal circumstances, this would likely be a deal breaker.But on the other hand, Keith can't stop thinking of what it'd mean if Shiro, his friend (and crush) and already in said fraternity, gets assigned as his Daddy.





	Come Back Down to My Knees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lasersheith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasersheith/gifts).



> Fic request from [Sam](https://twitter.com/lasersheith/), who requested Keith to fundamentally misunderstand the Big/Little mentorship in Greek life and mistake it for some kind of kink/sex thing. Thank you SO much for trusting this idea with me lmao. 
> 
> I had SUCH a blast writing this fic (so much so I wrote literally twice as much as I was planning to), so I hope you all enjoy it, too!
> 
> And thank you, eternally, to [Juna](https://twitter.com/springofviolets) for reading this over and helping me with Greek life terminology lol.
> 
> (Edited December 2019 for typos/grammar.)

As Lance drags Keith towards the drink table, Keith wishes to himself that he was drunker. It's not the first time he’s wished it so, and it’s likely not going to be the last time, either. When it comes to interactions with Lance, Keith often wishes he was completely smashed. 

Around them, the frat house pulses with music. Keith isn’t quite feeling it tonight, admittedly, but that might just be because Lance is bothering him. It’s always Lance’s fault. Keith sweeps the room with his eyes, searching out another familiar face or an excuse to run away from Lance’s out-of-the-blue lecture he’s decided to lob in Keith’s not-drunk direction. 

“Look man, all I’m saying is that you should fix your face,” Lance says, also not for the first time. This is Lance’s current crusade: making Keith more socially acceptable. Keith thinks he’s sociable enough as it is. Lance thinks this is his _greatest challenge yet._

“It’s my face,” Keith grits out, jaw flexing as he elbows Lance away from the vodka and pours himself a generous helping into his empty cup. “What’s there to fix?” 

Lance eyes his cup with undisguised revulsion. “I dunno, what about the whole sour-faced thing you’ve got going?” 

Keith doesn’t know why it’s any of Lance’s business, but ever since Lance stomped hard on his foot the first day of Rush and then they became pledges together, Keith’s had to suffer from his particular brand of obnoxiousness. Keith’d been kind of hoping Lance would lose interest by now, but no such luck. They apparently went to the same high school, too, as Lance claims, but Keith has zero memory of this. 

“That’s just how I look when I’m forced to talk to you,” Keith barks, and throws back his cup to down the vodka. Lance wrinkles his nose, looking alarmed when Keith doesn’t even flinch at the burn. 

It’s true, though. Keith looks downright pleasant whenever he’s _not_ around Lance. His mom always says he has a handsome, striking face and he believes her since they both have the same face, essentially. And his mom is gorgeous, thanks very much. 

Keith sways on his feet, not quite moving to the music— it’s a low thrum, hardly something to dance to— and clutches his cup to his chest, looking around again and only half-listening to Lance’s long-touted lecture on presenting one’s best self and investing in some good skin care and not having _resting bitchy Keith face_ , as he calls it. Keith’s heard it all before in the very short, painful time he’s been acquainted with Lance. He really does not give a shit what Lance thinks. Lance, naturally, takes that as a challenge, too. 

He focuses back in on Lance’s babbling when he hears him say, “But hopefully your Big will teach you some respect.” 

“What?” Keith asks, squinting hard at Lance and sipping from his cup. 

Lance rolls his eyes again, but stops mid-roll when Keith stomps on his foot hard. He flinches instead, eyes squeezing shut, refusing to show weakness against Keith’s assault. 

“Stop rolling your eyes at me,” Keith mutters, darkly. “And tell me what you just said.” 

“I _said_ that maybe your Big will make you less of a goddamn moody asshole. Why are you even joining a frat if you hate it so much?” 

Keith scowls and turns his face away, downing the rest of his cup and slamming it on the table hard enough that its plastic bottom crinkles. It flops onto its side, unable to stand up. 

He doesn’t have time to explain to Lance the reason he wanted to join a frat; he wouldn’t trust him with that in the first place. There are more pressing matters, anyway. 

“The hell is a Big?” Keith asks. 

“We talked about this at the meeting.”

“What meeting? The one two days ago?” Keith scowls more when Lance nods. “I was taking a make-up physics exam, remember? I wasn’t there. You and Hunk volunteered to tell me what I missed. Still waiting on that update, _by the way._ ” 

He widens his eyes judgmentally. Lance seems thoroughly unbothered, though, waving his hand dismissively. It’s the most obnoxious gesture in the world coming from Lance. 

“Whatever. Basically, we’re all Littles and the brothers are Bigs and we each get one to show us the ropes, you know?” Lance waves his hand dismissively again and Keith fights down the urge to grab his wrist and break it just to get him to stop flapping it around. 

The words, though, make his cheeks flush a bit pink. He’s heard of that kind of thing before, maybe, but never in this context. He’s not about to admit that and the implicit rabbit hole he’s fallen into when looking up porn when he was absolutely too young for it. 

“And you think one of them’s going to ‘teach me respect’?” Keith asks, more to see if he can get more information and less to goad Lance. Mostly. His voice drips with sarcasm.

“Yeah.” Lance pulls a long gulp from his cup. “You know. Be a good Pledge Son and please your Big. Blah blah blah, be good for Daddy. You know.” 

He’s definitely heard of _that_ before, too. Keith’s head spins, the earlier blush igniting his cheeks hot and quick like wildfire. He’s glad he isn’t holding a cup, because he’d absolutely drop it and splash alcohol all over Lance and he doesn’t want to have to put up with a shrieking moron more than he already is.

Instead, Keith shoves his hands into his pockets. Maybe he’s too drunk for this. His head swims with about fifty questions at once, but he knows better than to ask Lance and risk Lance lording his knowledge over Keith. He barely knows the guy, but that hasn’t stopped him from determining that he hardly tolerates him. 

_Be good for Daddy,_ he thinks and wonders if it’s possible to pass out from blushing. Thankfully, Lance is drunk enough that he mistakes Keith’s red cheeks for alcohol’s influence and continues babbling on about the other points of order he’d missed from the meeting— responding to official emails with school-sanctioned email and not personal gmail (boring), not giving alcohol to the underaged pledges (oops), and more advertising recruitment for the frat’s growing bocce ball team (hell no). 

Keith’s stuck with his stupid-drunk brain and trying to discern what a Big actually means. He feels someone lean his weight against him, wrapping an arm easily around him as Keith stumbles forward two steps. 

It’s easy, really, the way Shiro slings his arm around Keith’s shoulders and tugs him in close to his side. The metal of his prosthetic is warm and inviting despite its first glance daunting polymer design. 

Keith leans back without even thinking about it, settling against Shiro’s supporting weight. 

“Hey, guys,” Shiro says with a bright smile, the white bits of his hair swept across his forehead, his eyes shining. He’s not quite drunk yet, Keith can guess, just happy to be here. But that’s always been Shiro. 

“Hey,” Keith says, and his voice is deep and warm just with the one word. He doesn’t want Shiro to ever let go of him. That’s hardly a new feeling. 

Shiro looks handsome tonight. But he always looks handsome and sweet. Shiro looks like the kind of guy who’d choke you during sex but would buy you dinner afterwards, too, and rub your feet after a long day. Yes, Keith has thought about sex with Shiro an obscenely high number of times. And no, he’s never going to admit that out loud. 

“Shiro!” Lance gasps, loud and obvious. 

“Having fun?” Shiro asks, then spies Lance’s cup and Keith’s discarded sideways cup on the table. “What are you guys drinking?” 

“Water,” Keith says, and doesn’t even try to look remorseful through the lie. Lance chugs the rest of his drink rather than answer. 

Shiro doesn’t even have the decency to look convinced, just huffing a breath and tightening his hold on Keith just as Keith starts to sway to the side. 

Keith’s cheeks burn. He’s never really connected with someone as quickly as he has Shiro. The accompanying crush is quite frankly embarrassing, even if he’s done his best to keep it under wraps. It’s been a problem since Rush. Lance’s mile-long hero worship is painfully obvious, as is the similar feelings amongst all the pledges this year, and even some of the brothers. It seems everyone either adores Shiro or has a raging crush on him, and Shiro doesn’t even have the common courtesy to be obnoxious about it, thus curing some of the inconvenient feelings through exposure. No, he’s kind and gentle just as he is everything else, never obliquely referencing it or shaming anyone for it. 

If he’s noticed Keith’s crush, he hasn’t brought it up, and Keith’s grateful for it. Frat boys are not supposed to be hot. Boys in basketball shorts and a snapback are not supposed to be hot. But Shiro, Keith’s learned in their short friendship, is an exception to all rules. They met during Rush while Shiro was representing the frat and it’s been a steady friendship since then. Keith’s not about to jeopardize that by being an obnoxious idiot with a crush like everybody else.

“Mind if I steal Keith away?” Shiro asks Lance, grinning and tugging Keith a bit as they take a step back together.

Lance can’t even summon anything snarky, too busy beaming at Shiro like he personally hung the moon. Keith slings his arm around Shiro’s waist and turns them so he can pull him away. Shiro laughs kindly as Keith stumbles a bit but quickly finds his footing. 

“You looked like you needed saving,” Shiro explains once Lance is out of earshot. “Been looking for you all night.” 

“Yeah?” Keith asks, touched by and grateful for the concern. 

“How do you feel about playing some ultimate frisbee? They’ve got a game going out back,” Shiro asks. 

Keith wrinkles his nose. “I’m not drunk enough for that shit and you know it.” 

“Right. Cause you’re not drunk _at all_ ,” Shiro says, eyeing Keith. 

Keith gives him a perfectly innocent look. “Only water for me tonight, sir.” 

The quip makes Shiro’s cheeks turn pink as he grins, flushed and sweet. Keith, though, feels his stomach twist up and his blood begin to burn. _Be good for Daddy,_ Lance mocks in his head and Keith clears his throat. It brings his earlier questions back to the forefront of his mind. 

“So, uh,” Keith says as he and Shiro weave between party-goers, both fraternity brothers and guests. “Bigs, huh?” 

Shiro perks up at that, beaming. “Oh yeah. Keith. I’m so excited for the pairings to go out.” He grins wider. “I can’t wait to see your face when you get yours.” 

Keith’s eyes widen. “Wh— you mean everybody like… watches?” 

Shiro gives him a puzzled look and then chuckles. “Uh, usually? We have a ceremony for it. Nothing fancy, but that’s kind of the idea?” 

Keith’s gone absolutely breathless, staring at Shiro with wide eyes. 

“Oh,” he says quietly. His brain’s about to gallop away from him.

Shiro could be a Daddy, Keith knows. He might have the most boyish grin Keith’s ever seen and act sweet most of the time, but he’s also seen the death glares he’s sent Professor Slav or the firm, scolding tone he used on two gym rats when they wouldn’t give up the weight machine they were sitting and sweating all over. 

Shiro must misunderstand Keith’s reaction, though, looking at him sympathetically. “Hey,” he says, kindly. He squeezes Keith’s bicep, his hand lingering. “I know you can get a little weird with crowds and eyes on you. But it’s okay, yeah? All of you will be there together, so it’s not like it’s a spotlight pointed just on you.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, quietly, trying very hard not to envision a wild orgy in the chapter room. It helps when he reminds himself that Lance would likely be there, too. Or maybe that doesn’t help at all. Quietly, he confesses, “I didn’t… I didn’t realize that fraternities did things like that.” 

Shiro hums, considering. “It’s pretty standard,” Shiro says with a tilt of his head. “We gotta make you guys feel welcome, right? It’s our job to take care of you.” 

“Wow,” Keith murmurs, hushed. His entire body feels like it’s on fire. All the more so when Shiro’s hand falls heavy and secure on Keith’s shoulder and squeezes. “Did… You had a Big, too?” 

“Ha, yeah, I did! It was really good. I’d have been fucked without him, you know? I mean, I still was pretty fucked _with_ him but at least it was good? He had my back,” Shiro says, grinning to himself, likely recalling a fond memory of getting fucked in the chapter room or something. 

Keith has a hard time imagining Shiro as a Little, but it must have happened. Inevitably, then, it makes him think of what his brain’s been actively circling: Shiro as his Big, holding him down, fucking into him. 

He gulps. He had no idea he’d apparently pledged the kink fraternity, and yet here he is. None of the promotional material for Zeta-Pi mentioned _this_ particular brand of camaraderie. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, concerned. “You’re looking kind of flushed. Let’s get you some water for real, okay?” 

Keith lets Shiro drag him into the kitchen, fishing around the cupboard for a clean cup. Keith hardly hears whatever Shiro’s saying, too busy stuck on that one image. 

“Here,” Shiro says, tipping the cup of water to Keith’s mouth and coaxing him to take a sip. 

_Be good for Daddy,_ Keith thinks and closes his eyes, swallowing. 

 

-

 

“What’s so big?” Keith mutters into his pillow once he’s deposited there by his roommate, Hunk. 

Hunk hovers over him before retreating to his side of the room. “I dunno what you’re talking about, buddy. Get some sleep.” 

“Shiro’s big,” Keith murmurs, already half-asleep, mouth twisted up in a smile. He whispers, “Big hands.”

“That’s right, bud.” 

 

-

 

Keith’s still thinking about it the next day when, hung-over and miserable, he slogs his way to his part-time job at Yogurt Extreme. The morning shift is good, if only because he doesn’t get nearly as many customers as in the afternoon once classes let out and students come streaming in from across the street. 

Fully prepared for a morning feeling like hell and wanting to die, Keith startles when the little bell over the door twinkles and Shiro comes in. He grins when he spots Keith and Keith feels a flush climb up his cheeks as Shiro comes strolling across the hideously pink-themed frozen yogurt shop like he’s the king of the castle. His dark blue joggers hug his hips in a way that’s, frankly, utterly sinful. It takes profound effort for Keith to tear his eyes away and look Shiro in the eye once he’s close enough. 

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro greets him, sliding up to the cash register where Keith’s parked himself for his torturous six-hour shift. Shiro’s shirt stretches obscenely over his chest, his biceps bulging. “I thought I’d come check how you were feeling.” 

“I feel hung-over,” Keith says, eyeing him. “… You want some yogurt?” 

Shiro wrinkles his nose, peering at the toppings station with a shake of his head. “Do you sell anything else?” 

“This place is called Yogurt Extreme, Shiro,” Keith says, deadpan. 

“Point taken,” Shiro says, letting out an amused huff of a laugh, and Keith cracks a smile in return.

That’s just another one of the many things Keith likes about Shiro. He laughs at Keith’s humor, intentional or otherwise. It was one of the first things he noticed about him, that first week of Rush. Keith had made some Rush-Russian joke that hadn’t even been funny, but Shiro had belly-laughed for literal minutes. 

Keith had been doomed since that first moment back in September, and it’s only worse now. They were fast friends, and Keith’s grateful for that. When his mom and dad called him to ask how his first month at college was going, they’d been happy to know he was making friends. 

It was, after all, one of the reasons he decided to Rush in the first place. Despite Lance’s constant questioning why Keith would join a frat despite “hating people,” the fact is that Keith’s always craved that brotherhood, that found family that Greek life offers. 

It isn’t that Keith hates people, he just doesn’t get them. It’s a consequence of him and his parents moving around a lot, living out of their old RV and going where the work took them. Keith never grew up desiring the perfect college experience with a hundred friends all around him, but he’d hoped for that connection, maybe, deep down. 

And with Shiro, it’d been easy to imagine himself belonging, so easy to not feel awkward and stupid and on the outside looking in. Shiro has only ever made him feel welcome. 

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here to check on me,” Keith says, looking up at Shiro as he leans his hip against the counter, so close in Keith’s space— but welcomed there, too. Keith doesn’t like people touching him, really, doesn’t like huge crowds of people, but he’s never felt more comfortable than when Shiro loops an arm around him or stays close. 

“I know,” Shiro agrees and shrugs. “But I wanted to. You were getting pretty red-faced towards the end of the night, and a bit spaced-out. Just wanted to make sure you were doing okay now.” He looks at Keith, really seems to study his face, and smiles sweetly. “But hey. You look good.”

“Not hung-over?” Keith asks. 

Shiro shakes his head. “Nope. Fresh as fruit salad.” 

“That is not a saying,” Keith laughs. Shiro grins. 

“Honestly, I don’t know how you do it, Keith,” Shiro confesses as an actual customer approaches. “Full-time student, part-time job, and all the pledge events? You’re amazing.”

“This is hardly impressive,” Keith says and waits as Shiro steps aside to make room so Keith can weigh and charge someone for their heaping mound of toppings with a spoonful of yogurt presumably buried underneath. “There’s really nothing that extreme about Yogurt Extreme,” Keith tells Shiro once he’s taken the customer’s money. “Unless you’re counting how extremely time-wasting it is.” 

“Well,” Shiro says gently, in that quiet, insisting way he does whenever he’s singing Keith’s praises. “I think you’re _extremely_ amazing. You won’t change my mind.” 

Keith feels all warm and squirmy inside and he ducks his head, smiling to himself. “I, uh,” he says, after a pause, “I have my break in a couple minutes. You sticking around?” 

“Definitely,” Shiro says. 

He turns and finds himself a seat in the corner, by the large bank of windows opened out to the sidewalk. Across the street, Keith can see the science building and, beyond that, the bell tower on campus. Shiro sits bathed in the late morning sunshine, looking casually handsome, one foot propped up on a chair beside him, his arm draped over his knee. Keith could stare at Shiro forever, he thinks, and never get tired of it.

Keith wasn’t too drunk last night, really, and he remembers most of the night, conversation with Lance included. Time seems to slow to a crawl as he waits for his break, and the entire time he watches Shiro, he can only think about what Lance told him. He’s getting a pretty clear idea, he thinks, about what the Big thing really is— and maybe what’s alarming for Keith is that he’s not freaking out about it.

So maybe he’s pledging the sex fraternity. The guys are all cool, and Shiro definitely is. And if Shiro’s part of it, it can’t be all bad or some sort of weird sex dungeon levels of crazy. He and Shiro might be early on into their friendship, but Keith can tell that much about him— he’s genuine. He’s kind. He’s good. He probably wouldn’t spank Keith until he got permission. 

Keith sighs, staring at Shiro in the sunlight. He’s so good. 

He really does need to get a better handle on this crush, but it just keeps growing with every day that Shiro hangs out with him. Just last week, Shiro asked him if he wanted to study with him for Professor Slav’s physics class. Nevermind that Shiro’s two classes above Keith, really, but they’re both taking a physics class and that’s apparently good enough for Shiro to justify spreading their textbooks out on his floor, huddling up with Keith. Keith’s hardly complaining. 

Or there’s the fact that Shiro keeps seeking him out at parties, or finding him at his job to talk with him, or walking with him to their classes when they’re heading in the same direction, or eating lunch together out on the quad, or when they go to the gym together, or when Keith’s two blocks away and Shiro’s calling after him, waving with a grin just to get Keith’s attention. Keith’s phone is a flood of emoji and memes Shiro sends him and sometimes the occasional _let me know when you get back to your room, okay?_ texts. 

Shiro’s kind. He’s welcoming and warm to so many people, Keith thinks. But somehow, Keith is counted in that list. So, he can’t help but think, as he clocks out for his half hour break and heads towards where Shiro’s waiting for him, he wouldn’t mind being Shiro’s Little. 

 

-

 

“Hey, uh, Mom?” Keith asks when he calls home for his bi-weekly check-in with his parents. They’re close to wrapping up the phone call but Keith’s been circling around bringing this up, instead discussing Uncle Kolivan and Antok’s new tomato adventure, how Kosmo’s doing with Keith gone, and his next weekend visit (“Three weeks from now, not that I’m counting,” Krolia teases). But now he can’t avoid it. 

“Hmm?” she asks, clearly picking up on Keith’s tone and waiting for him to share. That’s her way and Keith appreciates it. 

“Do you, uh, know about… Big and Little stuff?” Keith asks and instantly cringes. “It’s a frat thing.” 

Krolia is silent for a long moment, considering, and then says, “I don’t, Keith. Perhaps your dad would? I can have him call when he gets home.” 

Keith sighs. He figured that’d be the case, and he’s almost grateful for it— only now, in hindsight, does he realize what a fucking awful idea it might be to ask his mother of all people if she knows about some weird kink thing. 

Then again, his mother doesn’t know anything about Greek life. She grew up and went to school where there was nothing like fraternities or sororities. When she saw a demographic breakdown of Altea University on its website, while Keith was still a prospective student, she remarked on how strange it was that the colorful infograph would emphasize how many students from Greece were attending and no other country. (Keith had to gently explain that the bullet point saying twenty-eight percent of students were Greek meant fraternities and sororities, not nationality.)

His dad wouldn’t be much help, either. He did go to a school with frats, but never joined one. The one point of comparison is _maybe_ if there’s something similar in the fire house, but Keith absolutely refuses to imagine his dad as a Big or Little anything, thanks. 

Keith is definitely all alone on this one. He rubs a thumb over his brow, between his pinched eyebrows. “Nah, it’s fine, Mom. Just forget I said anything.” _Please._ “Thanks, though.” 

 

-

 

“You know, the movies made college look a lot more fun and a lot less homework,” Lance whines from where he’s sprawled out on Hunk’s bed, waiting for Hunk to finish his chemistry homework. He kicks his feet against the wall, likely driving the next door neighbor crazy.

Keith rolls his eyes. 

“Hey,” Lance says, squinting at him and clearly having seen Keith do that. “Just cause you’re dumb and single doesn’t mean you get to roll your eyes at me! If you weren’t here, Hunk might make out with me.”

“Not until this chapter’s finished at least,” Hunk says cheerfully.

Honestly, Keith likes Hunk a lot. He likes him as a roommate. They get along well and he likes hanging out with him. But he cannot fathom Hunk’s taste in boyfriends. Everyone has to have a flaw, Keith figures. 

“I’m bailing in a few minutes, anyway,” Keith says. “I’m meeting Shiro at the student union to get coffee.” 

“Of course you are,” Lance says, with far too much weight in his voice. Lance is an idiot and doesn’t deserve to sound wise and knowing. “I pity anybody who gets you for their Little if it isn’t Shiro. Honestly, I pity Shiro. You’re gonna be the worst Little.”

Keith bristles, insulted even if he doesn’t want to admit it. “Fuck off. I could be a good Little if I wanted.”

“If you wanted,” Lance parrots. “That’s not how it works.”

Maybe not. But instead of arguing the point, Keith plucks off his sweaty sock just to throw it straight at Lance’s head. He hits the bullseye, which is deeply satisfying. At least up until Lance starts squawking at him and trying to shove the sock into Keith’s mouth. 

Hunk kicks them both out after that so he can focus on his homework. 

 

-

 

“Keith!” Shiro calls out. It’s a week later and Keith’s just gotten off work. Shiro’d sent him a text earlier in the early afternoon, asking him to stop by after his shift, and to bring his physics homework, so Keith figures it’ll be another slow, quiet night sprawled out on Shiro’s floor, trying not to overthink how handsome he looks in a fucking snapback. Keith keeps praying that, eventually, he’ll become immune to Shiro’s frat boy aesthetic and stop finding it so fucking hot. So far, no luck. 

Today, Shiro’s got the tight tank top on that emphasizes every damn muscle he has. He’s in the front yard with a couple of the other brothers, and he’s holding a bocce ball.

Keith wrinkles his nose as he approaches, focusing on the ball in Shiro’s hand rather than the rippling, sun-kissed muscles. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually joined the team.” 

Shiro grins and sweeps Keith into a one-armed hug, squeezing him tight. Keith huffs, leaning his forehead against Shiro’s shoulder and lingering for longer than is strictly necessary, staring at a little freckle on Shiro’s shoulder and wishing it was socially acceptable to kiss your friend’s freckles. Up close, Shiro smells a little bit like the lawn and sweat. It should be gross but Keith just wants to bury himself against Shiro and inhale. 

Instead, he wraps both arms around Shiro’s torso, embracing him as Shiro hugs him. Shiro squeezes him close one last time before slackening his hold. They draw away, smiling up at each other. 

“Promise Matt hasn’t sunk his claws into me just yet,” Shiro says with a wink. He tosses the bocce ball so it rolls across the grass and calls to Matt, “Hey, I’m heading up.” 

Matt looks scandalized as Shiro’s ball rolls perfectly up to the white ball in the grass. “Dude, come on, that’s a perfect throw!” He calls after him, “I’ll get you eventually!” 

Shiro waves his hand and then lets that same hand fall and clap Keith on the shoulder, steering him towards the frat house. Keith falls into step with him easily, as natural as breathing. He’ll always want to gravitate towards Shiro’s orbit, after all. 

“How was work?” Shiro asks as they head towards the stairs. 

“Yogurty,” Keith answers. “How was the new sport sweeping the campus?” 

“I really have no idea why Matt’s on such a bocce ball kick.”

“And ultimate frisbee.” 

“And that,” Shiro agrees. He nudges his shoulder against his door so the latch unsticks and swings open, then tugs Keith inside with a grin. “Ready to tackle some physics?” 

“Always,” Keith says dryly, dropping down to sit on Shiro’s bed. He’s been here enough times that he’s more than comfortable making himself at home. Shiro’s room is clean, bed half-made and new posters on the wall. Keith admires the new NASA poster over his headboard as Shiro shuffles papers on his desk, searching for his lecture notes and textbook.

“There’s a party this weekend,” Shiro says, conversationally, as he grabs his things and joins Keith on the bed. He scoots up so they’re sitting close, their backs to the wall. “You going?” 

Keith hums as he clicks and unclicks his pen, watching Shiro, mouth playing at a smile. “You want me to go?” 

Shiro laughs and gives him an overly fond look, nudging him with his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Keith shrugs. “Right.” 

“I know you’re not huge on the whole party thing,” Shiro continues and smiles. “But I’m always happy when you do show up.” 

Keith flushes and nudges back against Shiro. He lets himself linger, pressed shoulder to shoulder. Shiro’s skin is still warm from playing bocce ball in the sun. Keith reminds himself to focus, digging through his backpack and pulling out his notes before kicking it off the bed and onto the floor. 

“Heard some whispers about maybe there being some body shots,” Shiro says with a grin. 

“Off of you?” Keith asks before he can stop himself. 

Shiro straight-up giggles and kicks at Keith’s thigh. “Maybe if the right guy asks me.” 

Keith shakes his head, fondly. “I’ll probably stick to beer pong.” 

“So that means you’re going,” Shiro clarifies, grinning. 

“Guess it does,” Keith answers. He glances at Shiro. “You going to be my beer pong partner? Otherwise, I’ll get stuck with Lance again and might actually murder him this time.” 

Shiro laughs again, voice honeyed. “We can’t have that… Guess I could be persuaded. If you promise to behave.” 

Heat lances through Keith’s blood and he nearly chokes. His pen squeaks under his sudden, tight grip and he gives Shiro a strangled little smile. He must be completely red-faced. 

_Be good for Daddy._ Fuck. He’s going to absolutely lose it. 

“I…” Keith begins, his voice sounding like it belongs to someone else, deep and graveled out, especially when he says, “I could be convinced to behave. With the right discipline.” 

One of Shiro’s eyebrows pop up under his fluffy white bangs and, a moment later, his cheeks flush pink. Shiro clears his throat and flips a few pages in his book, then flips back to the page he’d been on originally. 

“Noted,” Shiro says, in a quiet little voice. He smiles to himself, his cheeks red, and scrubs a hand over the back of his neck and the softer, closer shave of his undercut. “I’m not actually very good at beer pong.” 

Keith’s only half-listening, staring at Shiro’s profile, his mind screaming with the thought of Shiro as his Big. That’s what he wants, he knows. Wants Shiro pressing him down onto this very bed and kissing him breathless. Wants Shiro to teach him how to be good, how to behave, how to make him feel good. His hands itch with the desire to reach out and pull his hat off his head and sink into his lap, to thread his fingers through Shiro’s hair, to mouth at his neck. To be forced down to choke on his cock—

Keith clears his throat, too, and asks, “So what are you working on this week with Slav?” 

Shiro shudders, only partially theatrically. “Don’t remind me. After this semester, I’m free of that little gremlin forever.” 

“Famous last words, Shiro,” Keith teases. “There’s definitely a reality in which you fall in love and—”

“ _Stop,_ ” Shiro begs, and shoves at Keith gently. It’s hardly a push at all and more Shiro leaning heavily into Keith’s side, trying to knock him over with his body weight. Shiro laughs and Keith laughs, too, wrestling to try to get out from underneath him.

He’s too heavy, though, and it’s easy work for Shiro to just become a deadweight in his arms and drop against him, pinning Keith solidly to the bed. Keith’s breath hitches, pathetically, and he tries to keep his heart from galloping away from him. But Shiro is firm and heavy and pressing down against him, even with both of them all twisted up, Keith’s ear cushioned against the hard line of his textbook. 

“Take it back! Take it back, you monster,” Shiro whispers in his ear, barely holding back a betraying laugh. 

Keith squirms, laughing. “Never! Can I be your best man at your wedding, Shiro?” 

“Stop!” Shiro moans dramatically, catching Keith’s arm and pinning that down over Keith’s head. “You’re the worst.” 

Keith giggles, pinned down against the bed with Shiro looming up over him. It’s totally innocent, he knows— Shiro’s grinning at him, teasing him. But Keith can’t help but squirm, can’t help but imagine Shiro pressing down against him more fully as Keith pants beneath him. Teach him some discipline.

“Takashi Slav,” Keith says with deadly seriousness.

Shiro shudders. “Ugh! Ew!” 

He buries his face against Keith’s chest, trying to stop himself from laughing. Keith smiles, pleased with himself, and just observes him, the way he’s stretched out over his bed and pressing down against Keith, the soft ghosting of his warm breath even through the thin fabric of Keith’s shirt. 

Feeling bold, he plucks Shiro’s hat off and pets his fingers through his hair, soothingly. He flexes his other hand where Shiro still has him pinned down. “Don’t worry,” he coos, “There’s also a reality where you divorce his tenured ass for all he’s worth. And he definitely didn’t sign that prenup.” 

Shiro lifts his head enough to glare at him and then headbutts against his clavicle. Keith can’t hold back his belly laugh at that and Shiro grumbles inaudibly against his shirt even as he pinches his side and makes Keith squirm. 

“I am no longer helping you with your homework,” Shiro announces into his mouthful of Keith’s shirt. 

“Too bad,” Keith sighs. “All I need is a little discipline, sir, and I’ll be right on track.” 

He holds his breath as soon as the words leave him, but if Shiro notices, he doesn’t let on. He slowly lifts himself away from Keith and just grins at him, flushed and amused despite his protests. Keith stares at him, eyes flickering over his face, darting towards his mouth and away again before Shiro can notice. 

“You’re impossible,” Shiro says, but it’s far too soft and affectionate. 

“So I’ve been told.” 

Keith glows for a moment, just from those words. He lets his breath back out again. There’s a small coil of disappointment when instead of tipping closer towards him, as Keith might have hoped, Shiro leans back and away. 

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” Shiro announces, “Otherwise, I’d kick your ass out of here for daring to imply I would ever go for _Slav._ ” 

Keith laughs and takes the hand Shiro offers him and lets Shiro pull him up into a sitting position. Their notes are all crinkled up from their impromptu wrestling, but Keith can’t regret it. 

What he regrets is not yanking Shiro down and whispering _fuck me, Daddy_ against Shiro’s mouth, to hell with any official Big-Little ceremony. 

He does his damn homework. 

 

-

 

“Hey, Pidge? Has Matt ever talked about what goes on at the frat?”

Pidge looks up at Keith, looking utterly scandalized, and wrinkles her nose. “Ugh. _No._ The less I know, the better.” 

Allura perks up from where she’s leaning her head against Pidge’s shoulder and running her finger along Pidge’s collar to say, “I’m in Kappa-E! Did you have questions about pledging, Keith? I know it’s not exactly the same, but…” 

Keith feels himself turn pink. “You, uh. You have a Big?” 

Allura beams. “Oh, yes! I’m getting a Little this year, too.” 

“Is, uh… Is Pidge okay with that?” Keith asks, eyes wide and face bright pink. 

Allura and Pidge look at each other and then back at Keith. Pidge asks, in that tone that heavily implies she thinks Keith’s a doofus, “Why would I care what Allura does in her sorority?” 

“Cause you’re dating,” Keith says, slowly, as if Pidge is the idiot now. “I mean, there’s the whole… that.” 

Pidge continues to look at Keith like he’s going insane. Allura looks a little more sympathetic, if confused. 

Pidge stares at him, deadpan and unconcerned. She turns to Allura and says, “You can do whatever you want.” 

Allura beams and leans forward, kissing Pidge gently. Pidge hums and looks much happier once they draw away. She leans in after her and Allura laughs, humming out as she kisses Pidge again, sweet and lingering. 

Keith looks away after a moment, frowning down at his calculus homework he was _supposed_ to be working on with Allura and Pidge. No such luck now, it seems.

 

-

 

At the party that weekend, Shiro doesn’t do any body shots (much to Keith’s profound disappointment) but there is beer pong. Despite Shiro’s earlier warning that he’d be a bad partner, he’s competitive and spirited and that’s all Keith can really ask for. Partnered up, they dominate against Lance and Hunk. 

Lance looks scandalized, but Hunk mostly just looks impressed as Shiro sends them towards a drunken stupor with ball after ball. 

Shiro’s cute, Keith thinks, bent over the cheap folding card table, elbow steadied there, just the tip of his tongue peeking out as he concentrates. He absolutely devastates Lance and Hunk. By the end of it, Lance is swaying and drunk off his ass. Hunk isn’t much better, but at least has more meat on his bones to absorb that alcohol. 

Keith tugs Shiro away just as Lance starts draping himself all over Hunk and calling him handsome. 

As they wander into the kitchen, Shiro decides to celebrate their victory with tequila shots. They’re both tipsy enough from the crappy beer that _fucking tequila shots_ feels like a good idea. It’s a testament to how drunk Shiro already is that he isn’t teasing about Keith drinking not-water. 

Keith licks the salt off Shiro’s hand and takes the shot, throwing it back and then letting Shiro feed him a slice of lime. He sucks on it, mouth pliant and soft, staring straight into Shiro’s eyes as if, in his drunken haze, he could broadcast how much he’d rather be sucking on Shiro’s dick. 

If Shiro gets what Keith’s putting down, he doesn’t capitalize on it, although he does stare for a long time at Keith’s mouth before throwing back his own shot and opening his mouth to Keith so he can press a lime up against his tongue. 

“We hang out a lot,” Keith says, abruptly, and his voice is just the slightest bit slurred at the edges. He leans back against the wall, hoping it looks cool and not like he desperately needs the wall for support. He watches Shiro pluck the lime rind from his mouth and drop it into his shot glass before setting it down on the counter. 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, and he plants his hand against the wall near Keith’s head, leaning into his space, half-caging him in. Keith’s never been so happily caged.

There are few people in the kitchen, the loud music and din of people talking lower here, but still Shiro leans in closer, as if afraid they won’t be able to hear each other. 

“Cause we’re friends,” Keith announces, even if it isn’t quite what he wanted to say or how he wanted to say it. 

Shiro nods. “Best friends,” he says, confidently, and then flags a little as he peers into Keith’s eyes. “Right?” 

Even drunk, Keith feels floaty from just those words, and he’s nodding quickly. “Yeah,” he says. “Best friends. My BFF Shiro.” 

Shiro laughs, ducking his head. His voice is soft when he slurs, “My BFF Keith.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, faintly. They smile at each other. “I’m glad you like hanging out.” 

“I like it,” Shiro agrees. “You’re so smart, Keith. You’re so funny. You’re so— pretty. Your hair’s like ink.”

“Ink?” Keith asks, blinking up at him. They’re definitely drunk. 

“Your eyes are like… stars,” Shiro sighs, ducking his head and huffing out a breath. “No, that didn’t… come out right. I meant… I love your hair.”

“Lance says it’s a mullet.” 

Shiro’s free hand lifts and tangles in Keith’s hair, holding tight at the nape of his neck. Keith shivers, imagining what it would feel like for Shiro to yank on his hair, to jerk him back and expose his throat, to bite and claim him, to fuck him against this wall. 

He breathes out through his nose, meeting Shiro’s eyes. 

“Your hair’s beautiful,” Shiro says, with the deep sincerity and seriousness only someone deep into his cups can offer. “So are your eyes.” 

“Like stars?”

“The entire universe,” Shiro sighs. “I want to write a poem.” 

“You don’t write poetry,” Keith counters. 

“You make me want to,” Shiro sighs again, with such deep longing. “You’re worth… every poem. All poetry.” He blinks at Keith and blushes. “Um. My BFF Keith.” 

Keith laughs, breathless. He tips his chin down a little, looking up at Shiro through his lashes. “I bet you say that to all the boys.” 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs, his voice slurred at the edges. 

“Yeah?” 

“I really… _really_ want you…” Shiro blinks slowly. “To like being here.” 

Keith’s heart kickflips in his heart and he sways into Shiro’s space. “I do. I’m pledging, after all. I want… I really want you…” He pauses, blinking owlishly up at Shiro, eyes flickering to his lips. He licks his own and whispers, “I want you to, um, let me in.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says faintly. He’s so close. He leans in closer still, arm folding so he’s leaning his forearm against the wall instead of just his hand, his other hand coming up to touch Keith’s side. Keith’s stomach, full of tequila, twists up in anticipation. 

“Shiro,” he whispers, although he doesn’t know why he says it. He’s too drunk. He’s treading through dangerous waters. Shiro’s mouth is so close, mouth parted slightly, looking so fucking kissable. He probably tastes like shitty tequila and lime. 

Quietly, Shiro answers, “Keith.” 

“I could be your Little,” Keith mutters, abruptly. It made sense in his head to say it. He thinks of Lance earlier this month, mocking Keith for his inability to be a good Little. Pitying Shiro. Shiro wouldn’t pity himself, if the way he’s looking at Keith now is any judge. 

Shiro giggles. “Little waist,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything else, and then his hands are touching Keith’s waist. His hands look so big against his torso. Shiro smiles, sloppy and tipsy, and whispers, “Little Keith.” 

Keith’s hands lift and press against Shiro’s chest, fingers splayed. He isn’t short, hardly small, but he feels so in comparison to Shiro, especially when he feels so crowded up against the wall. He digs his nails a little into his shirt, pressing just enough to kiss his skin beneath. 

“Big Shiro,” he murmurs in return. “I want you to be my Big,” Keith confesses. “I want…” He hooks his hands in the collar of Shiro’s shirt, swaying into his space, his breath ghosting against Shiro’s chin. “You’d… You’d make it good for me, Shiro, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, hushed. “I’d take such good care of you, Keith.” 

It’s the mixture of tequila and beer sloshing through Keith. He’s either going to be sick or brave. Maybe both. He has no impulse control right now, he thinks, or maybe that’s his excuse. Regardless, he stares into Shiro’s eyes. 

Keith yanks Shiro down and kisses him. They both gasp, off-center and too wet, before Shiro cups Keith’s cheek and corrects, angling him right and pressing in close, his tongue sweeping into his mouth. It’s deep and heavy from the start and Keith keens, his grip on Shiro’s shirt white-knuckled. 

“You’re drunk,” Shiro murmurs when they part, eyes still shut.

“So are you,” Keith shoots back. “Kiss me anyway.” 

He skims his fingertips along Shiro’s jaw, across his cheek. He touches his mouth and feels Shiro smile. He sighs out when Shiro tips forward and kisses him again, slow and intense. Keith feels sparks prickling over his skin and he sighs, sinking against Shiro. 

Shiro curls his arms around him and pulls him flush against him and then seems to think better of it, pushing Keith up against the wall and laying worship to his mouth. He tugs at his bottom lip and then sweeps his tongue into his mouth, murmuring Keith’s name. Keith sucks his tongue into his mouth and grips him tight, cupping the back of his head and keeping him close.

He’s sloppy and unfocused, and hardly has much experience doing this at the best of times. But his brain is all fuzzed out, in overdrive just thinking about what could come next— Shiro hitching him up against the wall, cupping his dick through his tight jeans, sucking a bruise against his neck. 

He moans, grabbing at Shiro, dragging him closer, whispering his name into the kiss again and again just to hear Shiro’s responding murmur. He wants to be good. He wants to be so good for Shiro. He wants to make Shiro cry out his name as he fucks him. He wants to feel Shiro’s cock inside him, feel his cock against his cheek as he sucks him off. He imagines what everyone would think, watching Shiro fuck him against the wall, knowing that Keith is his, that he belongs to Shiro. He wants everything at once. 

“Da—” he starts, choking on the word, wanting to beg for it. Be good. He can be good.

“Shh,” Shiro soothes, thumb ghosting Keith’s bottom lip as he presses kiss after kiss there. He presses his forehead to Keith’s, peering at him. 

“I…” Keith begins, and feels the rush up his throat that isn’t anticipation. He reels back, knocking his head against the wall. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

He ducks out of Shiro’s arms and rushes to the bathroom before the tequila can make a comeback. 

 

-

 

When Keith wakes up, he’s in his dorm across campus from frat row and Shiro’s spooned up against his back.

The night hits Keith in waves of remembrance and he nearly groans. He remembers the beer pong and tequila, naturally. He remembers Shiro knocking gently on the door to the bathroom to make sure he was okay, plying Keith with water and pushing his sweat-drenched hair back from his forehead. Taking care of him. 

He remembers Shiro bringing him back home. Remembers him wanting to stay until Hunk showed up. Keith blinks his eyes open and peers at Hunk’s side of the room. Empty. He must have stayed with Lance last night.

He must shift enough to rouse Shiro, who’s always been a light sleeper, as far as Keith can tell from the unexpected cat naps he’s witnessed Shiro take during study sessions. Shiro’s arm is draped, casual and secure, around Keith’s middle as his breathing changes. 

Keith stares at the arm now, not breathing, and feels Shiro shift, yawn, and then sit up a little, clearly checking to see if Keith’s awake. Keith turns his head a little to look up at him, almost afraid of what he’ll see. Their eyes meet.

Those same warm eyes, Keith realizes. Shiro’s smiling at him, tentative and concerned. 

“Hey,” Shiro whispers, and his voice is sleep-rasped and graveled out from hangover. He looks fuzzy at the edges, bleary and tired, but relieved to see Keith awake. 

“Hi,” Keith whispers back.

Shiro’s always been casually devastating in those baggy grey sweatpants, but it feels even worse in this context. 

“Did we, um. Did we…?” he fumbles out. 

Shiro shakes his head. “No.” 

“Oh,” Keith says. They sit up and Keith arches his back until it pops, trying to knead out the tightness in his muscles. It’s true that he only feels sore in the general sense, not a sex sense. 

They’re quiet for a moment, just looking at each other. Keith isn’t sure what to say, isn’t sure how to broach anything. His stomach feels all squirmy and he definitely could keep sleeping for roughly twelve more years. He’s glad it’s Saturday, at least, and he isn’t scheduled to work. No classes, either, obviously. 

“How are you feeling?” Shiro asks kindly. He lifts his hand and touches Keith’s shoulder and lets it slip, brushing his bicep and holding. 

“You mean aside from hung-over?” Keith guesses.

Shiro nods, his mouth playing at a smile. “What do you remember?”

“A lot of vomiting,” Keith confesses and then cringes. “Sorry about that.” 

“I think we should probably swear off tequila for a while,” Shiro agrees. His smile is sweet, tentative and boyish as he looks at Keith. He tilts his head, as he’s done so many times before. 

_My BFF Keith,_ he’d kept calling him last night. It feels stupid and childish now. But it feels damning, too— friends. They made out, but that’s probably the alcohol. He should probably talk about it, but Keith’s hangover headache pulses a steady tattoo against the inside of his skull and the last thing he wants to do is talk about his feelings.

He shifts a bit, folding his legs up towards his body and making room for Shiro on the tiny bed for him to hop out and adjust his clothes while Keith gathers some fresh clothes. 

He watches Shiro’s back. 

“Shiro… are we good?” he asks as Shiro picks his snapback up off the floor, where it lies next to Keith’s shoes. 

He watches Shiro sigh and scrub his hand through his hair, fluffing it up before slipping his hat back on. 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, smiling at him as he turns around, eyes warm. “We’re good, Keith.” 

That, at least, is a relief. 

“I guess this sort of thing must happen to you all the time,” Keith says, aiming for conversational and sounding, instead, horrendously jealous. He rubs at his cheek absently to fight back a scowl. 

Shiro chuckles, though, self-deprecating. “Not as much as you might think. This isn’t— I don’t really do this with just anyone, you know. I…” 

He seems to think better of whatever he’s about to say, though, sighing and closing his mouth. He rubs at the back of his neck, a nervous gesture, and gives Keith a helpless smile. 

“Want to go get some breakfast?” 

 

-

 

After Keith changes clothes and, failing to find a spare toothbrush, lets Shiro brush his teeth by smearing toothpaste on his finger and doing his best, they head towards the nearest dining hall to pay for some overpriced breakfast.

Food honestly makes Keith want to die a little bit right now, but he manages to pick out some passable scrambled eggs and a sausage link from the Saturday brunch buffet that won’t make him want to hurl. Shiro has a fruit cup because he’s sensible and beautiful. He also has a massive cup of coffee that matches Keith’s own. 

“I wish grapefruit were easier to cut,” Shiro mutters, the only betrayal that he’s also hung-over as shit, his knife shaking a bit as he attempts to cut out each section from the rind. 

Keith reaches over, brushing Shiro’s hand away, and does it for him. 

“Thanks,” Shiro says.

They eat in silence, for the most part. The dining hall is quiet at this hour, still too early for most people to be braving the necessary hundred feet walk to get their food. It’s blissfully, relatively quiet, and with each sip of coffee, Keith feels his hangover ebbing. 

He glances up at Shiro through his lashes. Shiro looks half-asleep, eating little segments of his grapefruit and sipping his coffee, which, frankly, seems like a hideous combination akin to brushing one’s teeth and then drinking orange juice. It’s enough for Keith’s sensitive stomach to roil all over again. 

Shiro’s resting his cheek on his hand, elbow propped up on the table. Keith studies the curve of Shiro’s arm, his strong bicep and trim wrist, the flex of his fingers. His hand is so big. 

“Shiro?” Keith asks.

“Mm,” Shiro hums and looks at Keith. “What’s up?” 

Keith squirms in his seat and then decides to just dive into the question: “Shiro, are you my Big? I need to know. I’m dying over here.”

Shiro blinks at him. “Keith,” he says. “You know I can’t tell you.” 

“But you know who everybody’s getting, right?” 

Shiro nods, cautiously. “The brothers got their assignments this week.” 

Keith sighs, fiddling with his coffee cup, running his fingertip along the lip of it. “So… you really can’t tell me if you got me?” 

“No, Keith,” Shiro says. 

Keith wilts. “… That means you’re not my Big, huh?” 

Shiro smiles, gentle and apologetic. “I’m sorry. I promise you’ll like who you get, though.” 

Keith stares down at his plate of food, feeling unexpectedly crushed by Shiro’s answer. He hadn’t realized how much he’d hitched himself to the thought of Shiro as his Big. 

He tries to picture the other fraternity brothers, imagines doing something like that with them. He sighs out, poking his fork at his food. He figures that maybe, with some steeling, he could warm up to the idea about one or two of them. But the odds aren’t good. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, gently, “Don’t look so bummed out. Even if I’m not paired with you, we’re still going to hang out. I’m not going anywhere.” 

That does ease some of the tension coiled up in Keith’s chest. He doesn’t know the whole politics of the sex fraternity thing— if somehow his Big would have his only claim on him. He knows Greek life’s reputation, after all, and some of the messed up things he’s heard in the news. It wouldn’t seem beyond the realm of possibility that Littles were forbidden from interacting with anyone aside from their Bigs. 

He wouldn’t mind following that command for Shiro, locked up in his room and—

He shoves a forkful of food into his mouth and chews without tasting it. 

 

-

 

Keith stares at Matt long enough that Matt actually starts to notice. He glances over his shoulder first to see if Keith’s looking somewhere else before turning back towards him with a small, “Uhhh… you okay there?” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, utterly moody, and turns his head to watch Shiro kick around a soccer ball with Lance, and looking utterly devastating while doing it, too. 

He peeks back at Matt again when Matt turns towards the two to start heckling them. He supposes that Matt’s okay to look at, especially now that he’s growing his hair out so he looks less like a bigger version of Pidge. 

But he can’t really imagine what it’d be like to have Matt as a Big instead. Shiro did say he’d like who he was paired with, and he figures Matt isn’t the worst option. There are some brothers he’s barely spoken to, though, and certainly there’s nobody who’s been as kind and friendly as Shiro’s been to him. 

Keith gathers his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees, staring after Shiro with no small amount of longing as he starts juggling the soccer ball between his two thighs. Lance and Matt start counting for him, calling out the numbers. Shiro makes it to twenty-five before the ball hits his knee and goes spiraling off to the other end of the yard. 

“Hey,” Lance yells and then throws the ball towards Keith. 

Keith manages to catch it before it hits him in the face, but he scowls hard. “What?” 

“Stop looking like a tortured Brontë love interest and come here. If there’s four of us, we could kinda play something,” Lance calls. 

Keith has no idea what a Brontë love interest is but figures it has something to do with the ENG-101 class Lance is taking this semester. He stands and chucks the ball straight at Lance’s head, profoundly disappointed when he doesn’t manage to break his nose. 

 

-

 

The night of the Big Reveal (pun fully intended, Keith’s sure), Matt hands out some blindfolds to the pledges and winks before retreating. 

“Don’t peek!” he calls over his shoulder before he leaves them to it. 

Once again, Keith wonders at the casualness of everyone around him. Hunk and Lance look downright excited, although perhaps Hunk looks a bit nauseous— then again, he does with any sort of anticipatory thing, Keith’s coming to discover.

Keith frowns as he ties his blindfold over his eyes and keeps it tight, making sure he can’t peek at all. There’s that small temptation to leave it loose enough that he could peer up at the brothers and figure out who his Big is, to give himself time to steel himself against that inevitable flutter of anxiety when he has to do this with someone who isn’t Shiro. 

A few minutes later, a couple of the brothers enter the room, check to make sure nobody’s trying to cheat with the blindfold, and lead the pledges into the chapter room. Keith can hear Lance doing a stupid shuffle and one of the other pledges trips a bit and knocks against the doorway, but otherwise the slow migration goes without incident. 

Keith really wants to peek as he’s settled into his spot in the chapter room. His body buzzes. He can feel the brothers and pledges around him, listening to the long spiel about the importance of one’s Big and being a good Little. 

But he can be obedient. He can follow the rules when it suits him. He leaves the blindfold on. He wants to be told he’s done well, that he’s good. His mind buzzes and he barely picks up the words from the frat president. He feels goosebumps rising on his arms, a small shiver pulsing down his spine, that low-level stirring of desire in his gut. 

Maybe his Big will fuck him and he’ll have to guess who it is from that alone. Maybe his blindfold will slip off and he’ll get to see everyone else watching him. Maybe he’ll be held down against the ground, against the wall. Maybe he’ll open his eyes and stare into Shiro’s as he’s fucked by someone else. 

Maybe he can just pretend it’s Shiro. 

He absolutely knows he’s getting ahead of himself. But still, he feels a quiver of excitement building low in his belly, an ember stoked from expectation, ready to burst to a fire. 

He imagines what it would feel like, for Shiro’s hands to touch his hips and—

But Shiro isn’t his Big. He told him so. 

That’s his last thought as hands reach out to remove his blindfold. Keith sucks in a deep breath and holds it, just focuses on the feeling of fingertips brushing his cheeks. One distinctly flesh and the other cool to the touch, a mixture of polymer and metal. 

Keith’s eyes widen just in time for Shiro to remove his blindfold. Keith blinks at him as he adjusts to the light and Shiro grins at him, triumphant and looking entirely too pleased with himself. 

All around them, the new match-ups between pledges and brothers talk, laugh, some of them even hug. But in that moment, Keith only has eyes for Shiro. The excitement slams hard into him. 

Keith laughs, face splitting into a wide grin and he grabs at Shiro, flinging himself into a tight hug. Shiro laughs, too, deep and honeyed against his ear as he hugs him back. 

“I can’t believe you lied!” Keith laughs, clinging to Shiro as Shiro pulls him into a little spin before setting him back down again. Keith grins up at him, relief and desire flooding through him in equal measures. “Shiro,” he whispers. “I’m so glad you’re— that it’s you.” 

“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” Shiro tells him with a boyish grin, wide and heartfelt. “But I did say you’d like who you got, didn’t I?” 

Keith laughs and hugs him tight. He shivers when Shiro returns the hug, his arms tight and huge around him. Keith was always short for his age, small and skinny, and he always hated being called small growing up. Now, he’s delighted to feel so slight against Shiro’s broad chest. 

It’s still odd to feel so happy. But Keith is. He really is. He feels like he’s floating.

 

-

 

After chapter, Shiro tugs Keith up to his room with a pleased, “I have your gift in my room.” 

“I bet you do,” Keith answers, voice quiet with expectation.

Keith’s been in the room several times at this point, but it feels like so much more now. He kicks his shoes off by the door and follows Shiro, who flops down onto his bed and gestures for Keith to take a seat, too. Just like normal. Keith drops down beside him. 

His room is a bit messier today, more lived in. Keith never minds it, since he always thinks it humanizes Shiro— and now it just makes Keith feel warm all over to think that Shiro trusts him enough with his mess. 

Shiro grins at Keith. “You should have seen your face.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d actually lie to me,” Keith laughs, and pushes half-heartedly at Shiro’s shoulder. He lets his hand linger, lets his palm drag down over his bicep, into the dip of his elbow, over his forearm. Only then does he let it drop away. 

He thinks he might be trembling. Expectation builds up inside him. He half-expected something to happen in the chapter room, but then he figures that clean-up would be awful. This is better. Even if he likes the idea of being watched, in theory, really he just wants this to be a moment between just the two of them. He just wants Shiro. 

It occurs to him, as narrow-focused as he is, that he has no idea who Hunk and Lance got for their Bigs, where they are now. But then, that really doesn’t matter to him, not when Shiro’s leaning against his wall, legs stretched out, wearing sinfully tight jeans and an even tighter button-up, thoroughly dressed up for his usual casual look. 

“You’re shaking,” Shiro says, frowning, as he looks Keith over. He sits up a bit. “Are you cold? I can put the heat up? Or a sweater?” 

“I’m not cold,” Keith says and his voice sounds so quiet even to his own ears. He keeps waiting— for Shiro to pull him across his lap, to move into his space and kiss him, to rip his shirt off. 

But Shiro does none of that. Instead, he smiles at him with that same sweet, charming smile he always does and turns a bit to grab his spare blanket all bunched up near his pillow.

But Keith can’t handle the anticipation anymore. When Shiro turns back towards him, blanket in hand, Keith swings his leg over Shiro’s lap and deposits himself, swift and sure, into Shiro’s lap. 

Shiro’s eyes widen. “Keith—” 

Shyness overtakes Keith, seeing Shiro’s expression, wide-eyed and flush-cheeked. Keith ducks his head, strangely bashful as he fiddles with the collar of Shiro’s shirt. “So,” he murmurs, “When, um… when do we start this whole Big-Little thing?” 

“Keith, wh—” Shiro starts and then stops, eyes still saucer-sized as Keith presses down into Shiro’s lap, not quite a grind but hinting it. Shiro’s hands hover in the air, not quite touching Keith but close. 

“I,” Keith begins, pushing himself, feeling brave, “I promise I’ll be good for you. I want it to be good for you.” 

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what it felt like to kiss Shiro, that night of the party. His memory is fuzzed out by alcohol, but he knows it’ll be good now, even better. Now that it’s official. Now that Shiro can make him his. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, eyes wide. “What are you doing?” 

His hands settle at Keith’s hips, after a moment, which settles Keith enough for him to press forward. “Sorry,” Keith says, frowning, “Were you supposed to start it?” 

“Start what?” Shiro asks, utterly lost. 

“Fucking me,” Keith says, bold.

Shiro sputters. “W— You—” 

Keith frowns more, his face bright red. “R- right? Because you’re my Big.” 

“B- Big’s aren’t— we don’t—” 

Shiro seems to have lost control of his ability to speak and with it, Keith feels a mounting dread. He leans back a little, frowning deeper, brow furrowing. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, after a moment, taking in a deep breath, his chest swelling. Keith wants to touch his chest. He resists. Shiro stares at him, expression serious, “What do you think a Big is?” 

“Um,” Keith says, uncertain if he wants to actually say it out loud. He’s clearly missed something. He blushes when he says, “You’re like… my frat Daddy or whatever.” 

Shiro looks like he’s just been slapped in the face, his eyes wide and his mouth parts slightly. Then, quick as a flash, his face burns red. 

“Like— like as in a sex thing?” 

Shiro's tone makes Keith think that he might have grossly misinterpreted this. He flounders, “I mean. You said that a Big takes care of his Little!” 

“Yeah, I meant like helping him adjust to frat life, buddying up for mixers, that sort of thing. It’s a mentor thing, not a sex thing!” Shiro exclaims. 

One week after Rush, Hunk had downloaded an app that played a record scratch at the press of a button. Keith feels a little bit like that now, staring down at Shiro. 

“Oh my god,” Keith says weakly and covers his face with his hands. He’s so embarrassed that he wonders if it’s possible to actually die of embarrassment. “I thought it was a kink. I thought I’d accidentally pledged to the kink frat.”

“ _Keith._ ”

Keith realizes, with a growing dread, that he’d made a fatal error: he listened to Lance. 

“God,” Shiro breathes, voice strangled. “So you’ve been so upset we weren’t paired up because you thought I wasn’t— that I wasn’t going to be your Daddy?” 

“Don’t say it like that!” Keith cries out and shifts to get out of Shiro’s lap. He looks away, scrambling to pinpoint the best point of exit. Maybe if he threw himself out the window. “I should go—” 

Shiro clamps his hands on him, though, keeping him still and in his lap. “Keith,” he says, gently, “Wait. Please, don’t leave.” 

Keith settles, feeling mortified to still be stretched out over Shiro’s thighs like this. He’s going to murder Lance. And then himself. 

“I’m really— I mean, _nice._ ” Shiro looks at him helplessly and then blushes. “Uh.” His voice goes quiet, unexpectedly shy. “Wow, so… So with me, you want— you wanted that?” 

“Have you seen yourself?” Keith asks, because he’s already dug himself a hole; he might as well bury himself, too. “I’ve told you. It… it means a lot to me that we’re friends. If it was going to be anyone, I’d want it to be you.” 

“Wow,” Shiro whispers again.

“Yeah,” Keith mutters, decidedly not looking at Shiro. “Listen, I just— I like you, you know? That’s probably obvious. It’s fine if you don’t feel that way. I know we never talked about the whole making out thing, but—” 

“Keith,” Shiro says again, hushed. “Of course I like you. I’ve liked you since the moment I met you.” 

“I mean, like-like,” Keith reiterates.

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees. “Even though you just said _like-like_ like we’re in the third grade. Yeah, Keith. I _like-like_ you.”

“But,” Keith flounders, gripping Shiro’s shoulders hard. “I— after the party— we never talked about it.” 

“I didn’t… I didn’t want you to feel obligated? I knew you were going to be my Little,” Shiro explains. “I didn’t want you to think you had to do anything you didn’t want to do.” He looks up at Keith. “That’s still true, Keith. There’s… Obviously I didn’t explain this well enough to you. This isn’t— contingent on pledging. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Keith’s heart melts, despite himself. Shiro’s a gentleman. Of course he is. He runs his hands up Shiro’s arms, feeling the firm curve of his muscles, the slope of his shoulders. 

He cups Shiro’s cheeks and leans in. He hesitates only for a moment, studying Shiro’s face, the way he stares up at Keith, lips slightly parted, eyes bright. He watches Shiro lean in just a little, closing his eyes. Emboldened, Keith ducks down and kisses Shiro gently. 

“That’s my answer,” he whispers when they break apart, pressing his forehead to Shiro’s. 

Shiro’s expression is moony when he says, “That’s… that’s a really good answer.” 

“So…” Keith trails off, fiddling with a piece of hair before shoving it off his face, looking at Shiro. 

Shiro smiles at him. “So.” 

Keith ducks down and kisses Shiro just as Shiro tips up to meet him. Keith sighs into the kiss, slanting his mouth to his, opening to Shiro’s tongue, to the whisper of his teeth over his bottom lip. His heart’s a frantic tattoo against his ribs and he doesn’t even care, weaving his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and holding him close. 

Shiro’s hands slide down, palming and cupping his ass as he drags Keith in closer towards him. It’s a pointed move and one that pulls a small gasp out of Keith. His hands feel so big and Keith arches as he kisses Shiro. 

Keith breaks the kiss, though, as a thought occurs to him. 

“Are we allowed to do… this?” Keith asks, gesturing between the two of them. “Even though you’re my Big?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro answers. “As long as you know it’s not required to pledge. I mean, my Big’s with his Big, and we _definitely_ never did this.” He perks up a bit. “Keith, you come from a long line of very stupid lineage now.” 

“Ugh,” Keith says, turning pink but smiling. 

“And someday you’ll be someone’s Big,” Shiro continues, hands dragging over his thighs and back up again, ignoring Keith’s interjection, “and maybe he’ll want to call _you_ Daddy.” 

“Stop!” Keith laughs and shoves at Shiro.

Shiro tips backward, sprawled out on his back and grinning up at Keith. His hands squeeze his thighs and then shift up, cupping his hips. His thumbs press into the cut of Keith’s hip bones. Keith absolutely does not shiver. 

“You could,” Shiro says.

“What?” 

“Call me Daddy,” Shiro answers, his grin wide but maybe a little shy. “If you wanted. I mean. Is that what you want?” 

Keith’s hands skate down Shiro’s chest before curling around the bottom button, undoing it and then working his way up, stripping him with as much ease as he can manage. He touches the dips and lines of his muscles as he pushes the shirt open, dragging his nails lightly down his chest. 

Shiro stares up at him like he’s perfect. Keith licks his lips just to see the way Shiro’s eyes zero on in that, how dark his grey eyes can go. 

He’s been waiting for this. He’s been thinking about this again and again ever since Lance had to run his goddamn mouth. Keith hesitates now not because he doesn’t want it, but more taken aback just by how much he _does._

His fingertips drag down Shiro’s belly. Lower, then, over the dark denim of his jeans. He cups his hand over Shiro, feeling the hardening line of his cock. Keith sucks in a deep breath just as Shiro does. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, and lifts his hips so Keith can strip him down, pulling off his shirt and his pants. 

His hands are large and sure when they reach for Keith in turn, pulling his shirt up over his head and running his big hands down over Keith’s body. Keith shivers, trembling a bit, and arches his back. His dark hair spills over his eyes and he tries to push it back, tries to look at everything at once, Shiro laid out beneath him. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Shiro tells him in complete earnestness. 

“Enough to inspire poetry?” Keith asks, teasing, as he tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear. 

Shiro laughs and reaches for him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him down so they can kiss. He’s gentle as he bites at Keith’s mouth, pressing up closer to him and tangling one hand in his hair. He holds Keith steady, careful as he kisses him, swallowing each little sigh Keith makes. 

Keith palms Shiro’s cock and feels it twitch against his fingertips, strokes over it until he feels Shiro harden. He’s big, as big as Keith’d hoped when discreetly looking at his dick print in joggers. He groans into Shiro’s mouth and feels the curve of Shiro's answering smile as he cups Keith’s cheek and deepens the kiss. 

“Shiro,” he whines into the kiss. 

Keith sighs as Shiro breaks away, pressing sloppy kisses along his jaw, nuzzling at his neck. He rocks his hips up a little, encouraging, as Keith strokes him.

“Baby,” Shiro whispers, quiet, like he’s testing the word out. He watches Keith’s face closely for his reaction and seems encouraged by Keith’s blushing response. “Tell me what you want. Whatever you want.” 

“Want you to fuck me,” Keith mutters, embarrassed. 

“How?” Shiro asks, because of course he does, the earnest asshole that he is. Keith squeezes his cock tight just to hear him whimper. 

“Figure it out,” Keith snaps to cover his combination of embarrassment and pitiful arousal. “You said you’d take care of me,” Keith says, softer, twisting his hand down the length of Shiro’s cock. “So take care of me.” 

“Oh,” Shiro whispers, rocking into Keith’s hand.

Keith licks his lips and adds, entirely too quiet and tentative: “Daddy.” 

He’s nearly sent back sprawling with the force of Shiro hauling himself upward, mid-gasp, and pulling Keith to him, kissing him hard and deep. Keith’s heart leaps and he whimpers, clinging to Shiro as Shiro pulls him tight to him, kisses him sloppy and forceful. He melts in Shiro’s arms, his hand losing its rhythm against Shiro’s cock. 

But it’s Shiro’s hand that closes around Keith’s cock now, big and sure as he strokes Keith from root to tip. He twists over the cockhead, thumbs at the crown, and Keith gasps into the kiss, punched-out and shuddering. Shiro’s hand twists down his cock, squeezes at the base, and drags back up without mercy. Keith never could have guessed a hand job would leave him a trembling mess, and yet here he is, melted in Shiro’s arms, breathless as he kisses him, panting and rocking hard into Shiro’s hand. 

He nearly cries out when Shiro stops touching him, his hands cupping and squeezing his ass, manhandling and guiding him along as he shifts beneath him, grabbing at his drawer and fishing around for lube. When Shiro’s fingers tease at his hole before drifting down the backs of his thighs, Keith lets out a low growl and bites hard at Shiro’s lip. 

“Fuck me, Shiro,” Keith says. 

Shiro laughs, wide-eyed and breathless. “You said I have to take care of you. I’m taking care of you.”

When his fingers stroke over his hole again, they’re slick with lube. Keith sighs and arches, then sinks down against the two fingers he presses inside him. 

“Bet I could get you to come just from this,” Shiro says, sounding both smug and awed as he watches Keith squirm in his lap, pressing back against his hand. 

“Don’t you dare,” Keith growls. “I’m coming on your cock.” 

Shiro chokes a bit and then laughs, pressing knuckle-deep into Keith and letting Keith ride his hand. He crooks his fingers, tentative and exploratory, and marvels at Keith’s low-pitched keen. He takes his time, though, thumb pressing against his rim while his two fingers press inside him. 

“You’re eager,” Shiro says, wondering.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this,” Keith answers, bold. He squirms back against Shiro’s fingers, big and thick inside him. “Don’t make me wait longer than I need to.” 

“You’re so…” Shiro whispers, still looking vaguely awed as he scissors his fingers inside Keith just to make him keen. “You’re so hot.” 

Keith can’t recall anyone other than Shiro telling him as much and he can’t help but preen, rolling his hips down against Shiro’s fingers. He can be good. He wants to be good, really. He can be beautiful for Shiro. He can be good for him. 

He rocks against Shiro’s hand, riding him, wishing it was his cock. 

“Shiro,” he whines. 

“I’ve got you,” Shiro whispers, biting at his ear and nuzzling down his neck. He presses sloppy kisses over his shoulder as he cups Keith’s hip and guides him down to fuck his hand. “Baby, you feel so good.”

Keith preens again under the praise, back straightening. He grips Shiro tight, nails digging against his back as he moves, panting. 

“Come on,” Keith says. “ _Come on._ ” 

He must beg enough for it because Shiro strokes his fingers inside him only for a few more thrusts before he withdraws. He cups Keith’s hips, dragging him forward. He looks thoughtful.

“Might be easier for you if you do hands and knees,” he muses to himself, stroking his hands over Keith’s thighs.

Keith snorts. “I want to see your face. I’m staying here.”

Shiro blinks and looks up at him, cheeks flushing. “Oh,” he whispers. Then he smiles. “Okay.” 

Keith sits up on his knees to make room for Shiro to adjust. He anchors to Shiro’s shoulders as Shiro strokes over his cock, slicking himself up. Keith squirms closer and settles back over Shiro’s lap before sinking down again. 

He lets out a little sigh as Shiro’s cock slides between his cheeks, pressing full length against his skin without entering. Keith reaches back, spreading himself for Shiro as he squeezes hard at the base of his cock and guides it to press against Keith’s hole. 

Despite Keith’s whining, Shiro goes slow. He presses enough for the tip of his cock to enter, pressing against Keith’s hole and then in, Keith’s rim stretching wide over his cockhead. Keith gasps, hands scrabbling up to grip Shiro’s shoulders. 

Shiro cups Keith's ass now, spreading him wide for him. Keith pants, trembling. “Fuck,” Keith whispers as he adjusts, “You’re so big.”

Shiro grins, blushing and looking just a touch smug. “Well,” he says. “I am your Big, aren’t I?”

“ _Ugh,_ ” Keith says, with feeling. Shiro grins at him, far too triumphant, and Keith presses his hand over Shiro's face, smooshing it and shoving it away from himself. The tip of Shiro's cock slips out of Keith as Shiro folds backwards. 

Shiro’s laughing and, after a moment, Keith can’t help but laugh, too. Shiro sways back into his space, curling his fingers in Keith’s hair and kissing him, sweetly. When he parts, he lines himself back up again with Keith and Keith sighs, sinking back to take him again. 

“Come on,” Shiro whispers, nosing at his cheek and pressing his mouth to Keith’s ear, his voice throaty and deep and devastating to all of Keith’s senses. “Be good for me, baby. Call me it?” 

“Fuck,” Keith gasps, and yanks hard on Shiro’s hair to jerk him away and then drag him back in again, licking into his mouth and moaning weakly as Shiro pulls him in close. Shiro presses his hips up, just barely, just enough for him to slip deeper into Keith. Keith feels small, feels surrounded just from that. He shudders, wrapping his legs loosely around Shiro’s hips. “Shiro,” he whispers, “ _Shiro._ ” 

“Not the name I asked for,” Shiro whispers into his mouth with a smile. He squeezes Keith's ass and guides him downward, letting Keith sink inch by inch onto Shiro’s cock. He’s trembling, too, Keith realizes with some vague surprise, holding himself back for Keith to adjust. 

“I’ll call you that when you earn it,” Keith snaps. “Now fuck me!” 

Shiro grins, rising to the challenge because of course he does. “You got it, babe.” 

“You really… you really are big,” Keith whispers as, panting, he settles his hips back against Shiro’s cock, thick and deep inside him. 

“Got a thing for size, huh?” Shiro asks, looking pleased.

“Shut up,” Keith says, blushing, but doesn’t deny it. He smiles as Shiro moves closer, pressing their foreheads together. 

“You okay?” Shiro asks, rubbing his hips. 

“It’s— it’s a little more than I imagined,” Keith admits. “Sorry. I’m… I don’t know if I’m any good at this.” 

“You’re perfect,” Shiro whispers, and his voice does sound reverential, wondering and soft. “Keith. God. You’re _perfect._ ” 

Keith smiles to himself and rolls his hips back experimentally, just to hear Shiro gasp. 

“Yeah,” Shiro pants, “Yeah, like that, baby.”

He cups Keith’s hips and guides him down and, together, they set that pace. Shiro rocks up to meet Keith’s thrusts and Keith gasps, quietly, fisting his cock as he’s fucked. It’s steady, deep, and pulls moan after moan from Keith’s throat. 

His thighs burn with the movement, but Shiro’s hands shift back, cupping his ass again and guiding him against him. He rolls his hips up and lowers Keith down to meet him. He takes care of him. Keith just clings to Shiro, enjoying the ride, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Shiro’s neck, hands gripping his biceps and marveling at the flex of his muscles. 

“Shiro,” he gasps. 

“Be my good little boy,” Shiro murmurs against his ear, teeth and lips dragging. “Come on, baby boy.” 

Keith cries out, he can’t help it, and he can’t even be embarrassed about it. He feels like he’s about to burn up. He whimpers as Shiro kisses him sweet and gentle, starkly different from the way they fuck. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, and that sets Keith on fire, too, just the sound of his name in that tone of voice, past Shiro’s lips. That they’re even here, together, like this. It’s everything. It’s never enough. “Baby boy.” 

Keith’s gasp is a rattling, jagged thing. 

“Can’t believe you like this,” Shiro says, wondering.

“Can’t believe _you_ like it,” Keith snaps back, feeling a little shy.

Shiro shakes his head, fingers curling at Keith’s jaw and guiding him in, kissing him sweetly. “I like _you._ Everything. My good baby.” 

“Fuck,” Keith moans. “ _Yes._ ” 

He bounces in Shiro’s lap, guided down by him. His cock is inside him and Keith feels stretched open. He arches, panting, knowing he’s being too loud and not caring. He clings to Shiro, paws at him, touches every inch of him that he can. He reaches down just to feel the spot where Shiro’s cock disappears inside him, fingers slippery with lube, body aching. 

“Fuck,” Keith cries out and rocks forward to kiss Shiro sloppily. “Daddy,” Keith pants against his mouth, “ _Harder._ ” 

He’s rewarded by a strangled, choked-off gasp from Shiro, the way his hands grip his hips harder and he slams up into Keith. Keith throws his head back with a pleased gasp, body squirming to grind down hard against Shiro’s cock. 

Their pace is merciless now and Keith keeps panting the word over and over into his mouth, _Daddy, daddy, daddy—_ and Shiro’s moving faster, harder, gasping out Keith’s name again and again, in answer, laying worship to Keith’s body. 

His hand finds Keith’s cock and Keith gives a fitful little cry, rocking hopelessly against his hand. 

“Baby,” Shiro hisses against his jaw, squeezing his cock hard in his hand and stroking him, “Come for me, baby boy. Be good.” And because he _knows_ the way Keith reacted before, he adds, quiet and reverent, “My good little boy.” 

Keith’s not quite sobbing but it feels like a near thing. He trembles, body taut like a bow. He rocks down hard onto Shiro’s cock and thrusts up hard into his hand. When he comes, it’s with a choked-off _Daddy!_ that lurches out of him broken and gasping. 

Shiro strokes him through his orgasm, one arm curled tight around his waist to support him as he slumps forward, pressing his face into Shiro’s neck and staying there.

“Do you want me to…” Shiro begins, quiet in his ear.

“Come in me,” Keith tells him, oversensitive and gasping, but not wanting that emptiness just yet. He squeezes his body around Shiro’s cock just to hear his broken-off moan. “Shiro,” he whispers. “Come inside me.” 

And Shiro, eager to please, obeys him. He hardly needs to thrust two more times before he’s tensing and coming inside Keith with a low groan. His grip is tight on him, folding around him, and he’s so big, breathing heavy in his ear, and Keith’s never felt happier or more satisfied. Sore in a way he never wants to get over, body folded up around Shiro’s, Shiro’s hands firm and sure against his body. 

Keith gulps down some heaving breaths before he manages to straighten up with a groan. He hesitates only for a moment before looking up at Shiro. 

He shouldn’t have worried. Shiro’s just as breathless and red-faced, but smiling when he opens his eyes and finds Keith looking at him. His hand lifts and touches his cheek, cupping it.

“Hey, baby,” he whispers and Keith feels like he’s glowing.

When Shiro kisses him, it’s gentle and sweet. Keith sighs and lets Shiro untangle Keith's limbs to press him down against the bed, leaning down after him and stretching out on his tiny bed. Keith rolls onto his side and curls around Shiro, pressing to his side and resting his head on his chest. 

Shiro’s hand is heavy and pleasant, curled up in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“You okay?” Shiro murmurs as he presses a kiss to the top of his head. It’s unbearably sweet and Keith can’t help the little smile in response.

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Really good. Give me five minutes and I’ll suck you off.”

“Wow,” Shiro whispers, stunned. 

“What… what about you?” Keith asks, peering up at Shiro. He lifts himself up a bit just to meet his eyes a bit better. “Was I good?” 

“Yeah, Keith,” Shiro says, grinning. He brushes his fingers through his hair, then skims it down his spine and down over his ass. Two fingers squeeze inside him, easy and sloppy from come, and Keith gasps out in pleased surprise. “So good, baby boy.” 

Keith doesn’t quite have a response to that aside from the beginnings of a second hard-on, so he settles for crowding into Shiro’s space and kissing him deep, biting at Shiro's lip when he moans. 

“Show me how good I was, Daddy,” he whispers and Shiro’s more than happy to take him up on that.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
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>  **ETA:** Ahhh thank you so much to Lunar for creating art for this fic!! [Be sure to check it out!](https://twitter.com/Lunar_Wanderer_/status/1123896186904240130)
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stardropdream)


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